"agnes" poems
A garden in a garden: a green spot
Where all is green: most fitting slumber-place
For the strong man grown weary of a race
Soon over. Unto him a goodly lot
Hath fallen in fertile ground; there thorns are not,
But his own daisies: silence, full of grace,
Surely hath shed a quiet on his face:
His earth is but sweet leaves that fall and rot.
What was his record of himself, ere he
Went from us ? Here lies one whose name was writ
In water: while the chilly shadows flit
Of sweet Saint Agnes' Eve; while basil springs,
His name, in every humble heart that sings,
Shall be a fountain of love, verily.
12.2k
You know the type.
She's probably called something like
Isabella. Rosalie. Ginevra.
and you find her in the sort of novel where
she's outdone by someone called something like
Jane. Agnes. Lucy.
She's remembered in criticism as
Trivial. Silly. Foolish.
She's defined as Shallow. Vain. False gold.
She's analysed as the mirror, the contrast or the foil
and you're supposed to vaguely dislike her.
She'll reaffirm to the reader that the heroine,
whether she be plain or beautiful, is always, in the end,
Rational. Independent. Brave.
She reaffirms the heroine as someone who
learns and grows
while the silly girl is left looking at herself in the mirror.
The thing is sometimes I feel more like the silly girl,
the girl who needs a hand, the girl who reads books
and wants to believe the stories.
Sometimes, I'm looking in the mirror,
chest deep in my own trivial, silly little worries,
looking at the puddles not the lake, and I know.
I know I'd be one of the silly girls,
not the heroine, out there, just surviving.
I'd be one of those silly girls and I hate it - and yet
- what's so wrong with the silly girls?
What's so wrong with the girls who love themselves,
or love the wrong people or love their clothes?
What's wrong with the girls who are
brave but not rational,
independent but trivial,
selfish but practical?
What's wrong with those girls,
because I always find myself preferring
the Ginevras and the Isabellas anyway.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
a taste of frozen snow
how about pistachio
chocolate fountain
or vanilla chateau
could be strawberry fields
maybe mixed
with honey and wine
or collected from
the lower slopes of
confection perfection
call it what you like:
Dondurma,
Kulfi,
Cornets with Cream,
perhaps like Agnes,
Queen of Ices,
wading deeper
into blissful sugar,
waffling
back and forth
in endless
flavored dreams
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 12:56 PM UTC
drømmesind
februar måned - langt væk og lige om lidt
før mig tilbage gennem tågen, gennem tankerne
minder; knyttet til sanserne (det duftede af noget bestemt, vi lyttede til denne her kunstner, det var koldt) og noget helt ubeskriveligt. en stemning
tilbageblik, koldt
vinterferien:
amsterdam, håndcreme, agnes obel, earl grey og støvet lugt i bygningen, helt bestemt væremåde, kold brun og mørkegrå og hvid og mintsmag
et koldt hjem
vejrmøller
at vågne fra en dyb søvn
søndagssind
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 4:42 AM UTC
Deep on the convent-roof the snows
Are sparkling to the moon:
My breath to heaven like vapour goes;
May my soul follow soon!
The shadows of the convent-towers
Slant down the snowy sward,
Still creeping with the creeping hours
That lead me to my Lord:
Make Thou my spirit pure and clear
As are the frosty skies,
Or this first snowdrop of the year
That in my ***** lies.
As these white robes are soil'd and dark,
To yonder shining ground;
As this pale taper's earthly spark,
To yonder argent round;
So shows my soul before the Lamb,
My spirit before Thee;
So in mine earthly house I am,
To that I hope to be.
Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far,
Thro' all yon starlight keen,
Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star,
In raiment white and clean.
He lifts me to the golden doors;
The flashes come and go;
All heaven bursts her starry floors,
And strows her lights below,
And deepens on and up! the gates
Roll back, and far within
For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits,
To make me pure of sin.
The sabbaths of Eternity,
One sabbath deep and wide--
A light upon the shining sea--
The Bridegroom with his bride!
4k
Agnes McDuff collected strange stuff,
Or so the story goes:
There were old pots and pans,
String, rubber bands,
Boxes and boxes of clothes,
Newspapers, plates,
Books stored in crates,
And candlesticks lined up in rows.
Some mason jars,
Toy trucks and cars,
A model train with a whistle that blows,
Needles and spools,
All kinds of tools,
And shoes with holes in the toes.
There were tables and chairs,
Bookends in pairs,
A grandfather clock that was broke,
An old brass spittoon,
Some Sunday cartoons,
And a bicycle mssing a spoke.
Four or five hundred old wooden blocks,
Twenty-three pair of grey woolen socks,
A Christmas Edition bottle of Coke,
A board game missing directions,
A bat, a ball, a catcher’s mitt, two baseball card collections,
And a great big rusty tuba. What a joke!
There was other stuff, but you’ve heard enough;
About what was stored in
The Attic of Agnes McDuff.
Part 2
Agnes’ attic was quite special
But not for the things it contained
But for how she had to get there
Please let me explain!
Agnes had a one-story house
A flight of stairs led to the attic.
When she opened up the door,
The light came on automatic.
It opened to a hallway
Where there was another door
Another light, another hall, and more stairs, which
Led back down to the first floor!
Where an elevator waited
To take her up again?
But it had just one button
And it was numbered “10”.
When she pushed it, it was crazy
The elevator turned upon its side,
Grew wheels and drove out on the street
For an amazing ride!
Across a long suspension bridge,
Then underneath a tunnel,
And then it went around and round
Like circling down a funnel!
It dropped upon a railroad track
Hooked onto the caboose
And followed to the roundhouse
Where it finally broke loose.
It turned around a couple times
And ran out toward the street
The elevator ran, of course
Because it had grown two feet!
It ran across an avenue,
Around a lake, and through a park
And then through another tunnel
Where it was very dark.
A mile later it emerged,
At Agnes’ house, by her front door!
The elevator walked inside,
And was on the second floor!!
So that’s how Agnes reached her attic,
Perhaps someday you’ll go there too,
Push the elevator button,
And you’ll find my story’s true!
Part 3
Agnes stood there in her attic
And smiled at all her stuff
That almost ends the story of
The Attic of Agnes McDuff.
But Agnes’ story can never end
Her smile turned to a frown,
Because you see poor Agnes
Forgot how to get back down!!
PwL May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 8:17 AM UTC
UWIAN:
Unang hakbang pagpasok sa tarangkahan.
Pangalawa, at tumingin sa daan.
Pangatlo, at tumingala sa kalawakan.
Saka naglakad pa ng isang daan at tatlumpung hakbang,
Sa apat, hanggang lima narinig ko ang andar ng jeep ni Ama
Sa anim hanggang pito narinig ko ang pagkukwenta ni Ana.
Sa walo hanggang siyam nakita ko ang tongitsan ni Manang.
Sa sampu hanggang labing-isa umiwas sa konstrukyon ni Saavedra.
Sa labing-dalawa at hanggang labing- tatlo ay narinig ang sigawan nina Agnes at Cito.
Sa bawat bahay, at taong nadadaanan
Tanging pagkaway at ngiti lang ang nadadatnan.
At ilan lang ito sa mga bagay na inuuwian.
Nagpatuloy sa paglalakad hanggang umabot sa abandonadong bahay,
Madilim man, at magulo sa loob. Ngunit amoy na amoy pa rin
Ang buhay na puno ng sampaguita.
Pumitas ako, inamoy pa ito, at nagbaon ng ilan nito.
Ipinikit ang mata ko, at saka linanghap ang mabangong amoy nito.
Saka naglakad pa at pumapasok sa aking tahanan.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 4:14 AM UTC
Sitting in her wheelchair,
Wondering what to wear,
Natalie, the Notorious,
Found her situation nothing short of inglorious.
Absorbent or plain, it didn't seem to matter,
Until, down the hall, she heard Nurse Agnes' chatter.
Her ears perked up, as did her head.
Glinting eyes showed much to dread.
Natalie said with all due sobriety,
"Here goes the plan in all its entirety."
She gave herself a wink, and tossed back a mickey,
Choosing her time, being quite picky.
Natalie searched out that sanctimonious nurse,
And giving vent to her rage, she let out a curse.
She flew from her chair, and let out a yell.
Frightened Nurse Agnes, in fear she did quell.
But Natalie's plan, to take the nurse down,
Fell quite flat, when she hit the ground.
Poor Natalie had totally forgotten,
The chairbelts kept her in, "Oh, how rotten!"
They snapped her back and she hit the floor.
The ice pick she had, flew into the door.
Really now, it's sad to say,
that Natalie the Notorious to this day,
Avoids plots of ice picks and death,
And focuses mostly on keeping her breath.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 5:18 PM UTC
You were without doubt the best dog I've ever had.
Your death has broken my heart and I'm very sad.
When I named you Agnes, I named you after my late mother.
I was your owner and you and I had a lot of love for one another.
You were a Chihuahua and you were an Applehead.
It tore me up when I learned that you were dead.
You were pretty with dark brown fur and you were small.
You weren't just a dog, you were also my baby doll.
I owned you for almost seven wonderful years.
I found you dead in my kitchen and it drove me to tears.
What I'm about to say is no lie, it's one hunded percent true.
You were my baby doll and your Daddy will always love you.
Jul 26, 2020
Jul 26, 2020 at 1:24 PM UTC
“Every act has meaning. Accident is a word born of confusion.” –Agnes Whistling Elk
Some memories are like crude graffiti
some gray in museums
still others, vulnerable chalk on the pavement
all fade
dawn makes no promises
it never has
If you’re afraid of what the night will bring,
or worse, you know
what it’s like to be young and out
of control
leaving a scent trail of blood and flowers
for the monsters of yesterday to follow
just let them
the fighting makes me so tired
Rust in the sun until rubies form
cry through the night until you have diamonds
pressure makes us perfect
because it made the cracks that
make us imperfect
fear is ancient, normal, mundane even but
fear is the anticoagulant
Meanwhile, I am very busy
construction’s going on in Hell
disrupted by
random clouds of
revolting, revolving gravity
knocking girders loose
violent vertigo
claiming kingdoms
work horses slide
into black holes
yellow tape flails as
white flags
cranes arch and spark
swing into the dark
silky black tar bubbles,
pops, seals
everything is
untimely interrupted
and later
ungainly speech mocks
the tombstones growing in the lake
Pain is like a good book
so hard to put down
separation of critical
moments crystallize
until everything has a compartment
and no one can touch each other
Decades old daydreams stink stale
like sour seeds in green fruit
lilies could grow out of so much
manure.
Rot bleeds through involuntary walls
The past is sweating,
afraid of what I know
May 17, 2010
May 17, 2010 at 11:40 PM UTC
Mary Moran can I see you
a minute please?
Sister Agnes said
Mary nodded and followed
the nun along the school corridor
walked past the statue
of the ****** Mary
(no relation)
and into a small office
where the nun
closed the door after them
sit down
the nun said
Mary sat down
crossed her legs
pulled the hem
of her school skirt
over her knees
and looked at the nun blankly
do you know why
you are here?
you asked me to come
Mary replied
*********
(she hoped secretly)
the rim of her school knickers
into a more comfortable place
unmoving face
the nun sighed
and sat at a desk
and put her hands
into a prayer mode
rudeness and disobedience
the nun said
that's why you're here
Mary looked past the nun
at the Crucified on the wall behind
dark brown wood
suntanned figure
dark nails holding
the hands and feet in place
and rumours of you
spreading rumours
about Sister Lucy
and Father Joseph
what rumour is that?
Mary said
leaving the Crucified
and gazing at the nun
you know
the nun said
how can I know
if you don't tell me
Mary said
the nun slapped the desk top
and said
dont try it on with me young lady
I'm not to be played with
(Mary hoped the nun wouldn't
contact her parents
her da was not in the mood
for bad news right now
and last time the nuns contacted
them about her
he tanned her behind
with his big hand
but that was years ago now
and well she was 14 now
and the hag seemed happy
just to moan so)
rudeness and disobedience?
Mary said
me being such?
the nun nodded her black
and white covered head
yes you Moran
and the spreading
of the rumours
Mary looked at the Crucified again
he hadn't moved
her fingers had sorted
the knickers rim out
to comfortableness
I'm sorry
Mary said
it's my menstrual mood swings
it gets to me and after
I feel so ashamed that I kneel down
in front of the statue
of St Therese and ask
for forgiveness so I do
the nun sat steely faced
her thin fingers joined
forming a kind of church structure
is that so?
the nun said
Mary nodded
then you will see Father Joseph
and confess to him
and see what he says about it
Sister Agnes said
eyeing Mary as she stood
and walked from the room
swaying her small behind
and muttered to herself
there's none so blind
as those that want to be blind
and the girl had gone
an odd smell of perfume
being left behind.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 3:16 AM UTC
I saw Agnes outside Harrods
Looking tres chic, le chic
I say darling, what's happening, sweetie
where's your Wainpatrik from the sticks
our erudite writer who thinks aspic is pate
I gave that hick the 'go find your level'
Agnes replied with a smile
You know how it is with him and his drivel
that coarse, crude, pretentious oik without a shovel
He tries to be intelligent but his head is full of gravel
bathes once a fortnight and has a todger like a weasel
You can't beat good breeding, she continues
those reconstituted barrow-boys
with B-Tech English thinking they are now genuine
Lacks confidence, style, self assurance, wet as the Rhine
******* in the boudoir, sloppy kisser, todger like a string
Bully and a coward trolling on his stolen PC, has no spine
Hey, lets **** down round my pad, she purred
You may be out of shape at the moment
But who's cooler, more charismatic and interesting than vous
Do you know you're the best I have ever had and I mean it too
You're head and shoulders above Wainputrid and that's so true
The twerp is so envious of you, he and his barrow mates stew
Tales of your exploits and size just leaves them aghast and askew
Hahaha...haha..she laughs as she linked arms, a glint in her eyes!
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 1:59 PM UTC
I adopted my Chihuahua Dog two years ago today.
I'll be Agnes's last owner, she's here to stay.
I adopted her in Morristown, Tennessee.
I am lucky because Agnes is with me.
Two years has been how long I've known her.
I'm very happy and proud to be her owner.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
Part 4
When we last left poor Agnes
In her attic all alone
She couldn’t find her way back down,
And she had no telephone.
No light switch and no stairway
She couldn’t find the hall
The elevator disappeared
(It had sunk into the floor)
And to make her situation worse,
She couldn’t find the door!
But Agnes McDuff was pretty tough;
She didn’t mess around
She thought of stuff that she could use
To help her get back down.
First she lit the candlesticks
So she would have some light -
For an attic with no window
Is black as darkest night.
With candlelight, she now could see;
She dumped the clothes from all the boxes,
Put the boxes on the table,
Next she stacked the wooden blocks.
She found some nails and a hammer
In her Grandma’s toolbox.
She nailed it all together
And on top she nailed the chairs
Now Agnes had a set of crazy, crooked
Homemade stairs!
Agnes went back to the toolbox,
She saw a saw was there,
She carried it very carefully
As she climbed the crazy stair.
Now you might have a feeling
Of what she was going to do
Yes, she climbed up to the ceiling, and
Used the saw to cut right through!
She climbed back down and looked around
Found the rubber bands and string
Added several woolen socks
And made a giant sling!
She rummaged through the dumped out clothes
Found a wedding dress and suit
And with the needle and the spool of thread
Made a great big parachute!
She hooked the parachute to the bicycle
(The one without a spoke)
And tied the back wheel to the tuba
And that was NOT a joke.
The tuba was quite heavy
So it kept the bike at rest
Once again climbed up the crazy stair
And performed the final test.
She nailed both ends of the slingshot
Around the opening she’d sawn
Hooked the sling around the bicycle
Moved the stair, and then got on.
Somehow the clock was working!
It was ringing Three, Two, One
And just as Agnes cut the tie she thought
Boy! This could be FUN!
The slingshot worked!
Shot Agnes out, on the bike, way up into the sky,
And she looked around in wonder thought,
Boy! I’ve never been this high!
She went up a mile or so
Before she dared look down
She saw the long suspension bridge
And the other parts of town.
She saw the entrance to the tunnel
(The rest was under ground)
She saw the roundhouse and the avenue
The park and then the lake
Finally, she saw her house
There was no mistake!
So she deployed the parachute
And gently she descended
And this is where the story
Of Agnes Attic should have ended.
She walked up to the doorway
Turned the handle, now you see?
The door was locked from the inside,
Agnes McDuff forgot the key!
PwL May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
The Poetry of John Keats is not Safe
You may find there “a cave of young earth dragons”
Or with a “sea-born goddess” fall in love
You might not escape “La Belle Dame Sans Merci”
Or finish reading all your “high-piled books”
Yet “tender is the night” when sings the nightingale
And you are shown that all “Beauty is truth”
Through your soul, “The wanderer by moonlight”
And there “like pious incense” the hours pass
Though in that “season of mists” one’s life must end
“Go not to Lethe,” but sail on with the wind
1 “Ben Nevis”
2 “Endymion”
3 “La Belle Dame Sans Merci”
4 “When I Have Fears that I may Cease to Be”
5 “Ode to a Nightingale”
6 “Ode on a Grecian Urn”
7 “I Stood Tip-Toe Upon a Little Hill”
8 “The Eve of Saint Agnes”
9 “To Autumn”
10 “Ode on Melancholy”
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
Before the stormy night they stand
The empty buildings high and grand
Windows black and diamond plated
The stars about their glassy faces
Monoliths and moonlight kissed
All tightly packed against the winds
Freezing stone and white as bone
Alight along the rainy roads
And further still the swirling hills
Receive the heavens overhead
Some mighty tryst, an inky rush
From here I watch them touch
Oct 2, 2023
Oct 2, 2023 at 11:57 PM UTC
the farmgirl with the green flecks in her anime eyes
is snoozing in her van. it's afternoon and she's lost her ruby slippers. she knows not where.
she charms the water fleas with her clean teeth.
she gropes through the ampules of her ample ***** where her heart is like a fox and hound.
in a glass forest. the otherwise, warm porridge is the cruel gruel of her next poem.
she gnaws on the nape of her next unborn. the naked rube of her snipe hunt
on a night with no moon.
she doesn't mind either.
her kites fly, un-flummoxed in the effulgent. unchained in the Quixote of our windmills. distilled
by charcoal fences. a net of screens, nimbly deployed across the hinterlands
of our possibilities.
now " who could that be ? "
agnes is calling and i know she just wants her computer fixed.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
Sitting in her chair
Wanting out of there,
The Notorious Natalie
Plotted quite frantically.
Mind absorbed in many plots,
Its a wonder she didn't develop brain clots.
Hearing her quarry coming down the hall,
She wheeled herself closer to the wall.
She spoke so low with all due sobriety,
"Here goes the plan in all its entirety."
Giving a wink, tossing a mickey,
Choosing her time, being quite picky.
Catching sight of that sanctimonious nurse,
She vented her rage, let out a curse.
Flew through the air, and let out a yell.
Poor old Nurse Agnes sure did quell.
Natalie's plan, to take the nurse down,
Ended badly with her on the ground.
The belts snapped her back and she hit the floor.
The ice pick she had flew into the door.
And even now that she's forgetful
Natalie's heart is still regretful.
Avoiding plots of ice picks and death,
Focusing mainly on keeping her breath.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 8:51 AM UTC
The Notorious Natalie sat in her chair plotting the downfall of Nurse Agnes. She did not notice her quarry coming down the hall as her mind was absorbed in plots of murder. Having only recently attained sobriety, she took the picky Nurse Agnes as being a sanctimonious old bat. Startled, she looked up into that very old nurse's face, and lunged at her with her icepick in hand. Unfortunately for Natalie, being forgetful as she was, she tripped over the walker she was using. The ice pick entered her easily and put an end to Notorious Natalie's plotting for good.
Thus Ends a Terrible Story.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 4:18 PM UTC
I am neither cryptic nor a firestone,
not even immune from hurt.
I deem myself functional
from a dearth of sources.
Gardening being instinctive.
Enduring Agnes my first love
with her then fringed suede ideals,
temporarily blamed herself,
believing I could never be
the sum of her dreams.
Men are not clotheshorses
they don't need to kick clod.
Some would rather grew
Nicotiana Sylvestris and
the Sunflower "Moonwalker"
in their Midshires allotments
with Agnes's tending
their "Love lies bleeding".
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
Treasure your holidays
in Llandudno, Alice.
Skip along the promenade,
play tag on the beach
and when it’s time for bed
wave goodnight to the sea
as it drinks the sunset.
Go boating on the Thames.
Paddle your fingers.
Listen to stories, doze.
Chase a talking white rabbit
sporting white
kid gloves.
Take tea with a dormouse,
play croquet with a Queen:
this is not your dream
but makes you smile.
Don’t wish too hard
for womanhood,
it arrives soon enough.
You’ll be feted, photographed,
posed as holy Agnes
and noble Alethea.
With "dreaming eyes of wonder"
Discover Alice
in your own looking-glass.
And when it’s time to dance
in your bridal gown
cherish the moment.
Two sons will die
fighting for their country.
Remember them
as flames that burn
long after each candle’s
blown.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC
outstanding
i do not research the words's etymology,
for it might steal it's magic from me,
you take me to different places different nights,
in shoes that hold eyes that see those sights.
that I cannot, though perhaps commonplace,
they are
out standing of my welds experience
so i, we, are voyeurs to a moment of humanity,
and i am out side, outside my body, in your visions,
out standing, near by, by words, moved by words,
composed outstandingly…
and now under~standings achingly transport me to
where you have been/seen
and send us
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 4:49 AM UTC
Martha Maguire sits
in the back pew of the church
cigarette between fingers,
smoke drifting slowly
to the high beams and tiled roof,
her blue eyes focusing on the Crucified
His arms stretched wide
His head lowered
His eyes shut
the skimpy cloth
about His midriff
nails in hands and feet
and wound in the side
a slit of red paint revealed,
she takes a drag on the cigarette,
inhales deeply holds the cigarette
just away from her lips and
with no effort releases
the smoke in a steady stream
over the pew in front,
the Crucified's skin
has a yellowy sheen to it,
the crown of thorns have
acquired cobwebs and dust,
only her in the church
silence except for distant traffic,
Magdalene had talked
of the priest and one
of the nuns and some
kind of thing going on,
Martha muses
watching the smoke rise,
the young priest not the old codger,
which nun was it?
not St Agnes that's for sure
she'd only *** out of
her thingamajig,
as would most of the sisters
no doubt,
Sister Lucy was it?
maybe can't recall the gossip,
she inhales deeply again
scratches an itch
on her thigh,
Mary Moran and her ways
with the boys
and she only fourteen too
as am I,
she smiles recalling
what Mary said of Brian Brady
and what he tried to do
put your hand in some other
girl's private place not mine
she said she said,
the Crucified hangs in silence
not a word
not a judgement,
some days she's sure His head
lifts and He gazes at her
with an awkward smile,
His eyes half open
the **** thorns pushing
His hair over His eyes,
the door at the far end opens
and the young priest enters
in his black garb
like a young rook
on the prowl,
he genuflects
and makes the sign of the cross,
then peers down towards Martha
who hides her cigarette
out of sight,
the smoke drifting less so
but under the lower pews,
he looks away
goes to the altar
fiddles with things
goes to the tabernacle
and opens the door
and fiddles inside,
she looks at her cigarette,
lowers her head
and takes a swift inhalation,
then sits back up
gazes at the priest
**** arsing about,
the cigarette between fingers
out of sight,
and she thinking
if it was the priest and Sister Luke
and the carrying ons
and what and where if so,
anyway she muses
letting the smoke drift
from her lips
what do they know?
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC
A little lad sat all alone upon St Agnes wall
Everything in silence lay except a lone gull’s call.
The tide lapped slowly at the beach; drifting to and fro
Bringing in the soiled remains of what we’ll never know.
And in the sky a solitary Star hung above his head
Was this the place where he would go the day that he was dead?
But just why did he have to go? Why did he have to die?
Emotion wrestled in his heart and he began to cry;
One tear drop in an ocean would never cause a flood,
One broken heart within a child would always do no good.
Is Heaven just a dream? He thought, Is God a fallacy?
And even if they are for real, will they be there for me?
The star moved slowly overhead; a distant shining light,
Then slowly slipped behind a cloud and vanished out of sight.
One lonely little tear drop hung suspended on his cheek
Then nestled slowly on his lips, till he began to speak.
‘Oh little Star don’t go away and leave me all alone
So fondly have I studied you that love has slowly grown.
I am a lonely little boy I’ve never known real love
Please tell me is it Heaven there, up in the sky above?’
The star then slowly reappeared and lit the darkened sky
Has if to send an answer down it shone upon the boy.
He never knew a star could speak but he heard it in his head,
It said, ‘I was a very lonely star but already am I dead!
The light that shines upon you now will gradually die out
But there is Heaven up above of this I have no doubt.
Like you I always doubted God but still I used to pray
And now I have so many friends within the Milky Way’.
‘Oh thank-you Star’, the young lad cried; his tears were now of joy,
‘Oh thank-you God for casting light upon this lonely boy.’
He sat there in the rays of that distant twinkling light
And in his heart he felt real love, till he watched it out of sight.
Dec 19, 2009
Dec 19, 2009 at 9:24 AM UTC
The faces at the table change
it’s the flow and ebb of time
we struggle to remember them
and the days of Auld Lang Syne .
The former faces shared our names
We are their blood and line
We gather now in different lands
in a very different time.
Grandfather James, renowned for brains,
played music and sang songs
Great Grandson James, the chemist,
researches to right Cancer’s wrongs.
There were Margarets and Catherines
in that different age and time
I struggle to remember them
different people, different times
Our Ed is a music teacher
who can read and write a score
Their Eddie died a pilot
in that war to end all wars.
My age lacks a Sophia
and I count it quite a loss.
She was a faithful bride of Christ
and wore a simple cross.
There was a Susan and an Agnes
back in the former age
Agnes nursed in wartime London
as above the air war raged.
The faces at the table change
the ranks are thinned with time
We struggle to remember them
and the days of Auld Lang Syne
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 9:00 AM UTC